lass, this might be the two hundredth night you'd played the
part. Are you some great one I've not recognized? And will you
sign a picture-postcard for our second housemaid- the one who saw
'Buzz-Buzz ' eighteen times?"

"What! Not the one with fair hair?"

"And flat feet? The very one. Junket, her name is. By Curds out
of Season. My mistake. I was thinking of our beagle. Don't
think I'm quite mad. I'm only drunk. You're the wine."

"The Queen is, you mean."

"No, no- you, Alice."

She looked at her wrist-watch.

"Oh, all right," I said. "The Queen's the wine, the play's the
thing. Anything you like. Only I'm tired of play-acting, and I
only want to talk to Alice. Come and let me introduce Pomfret."

"He hasn't been here all the time?"

"Waiting in the road."

"Oh, he's a horse."

I laughed by way of answer, and we walked to where Pomfret stood,
patient, immobile. I introduced him elaborately. My lady swept
him a curtsey.